Three Proposals And A Scandal Part 18

Apparently he wasn't sane.

Since their introduction, he'd wanted to shake this girl's unnatural composure. Miss Sanders awoke all his worst impulses. Not since his schooldays had he wanted to pull a girl's plait or put a mouse down her back just to stop her treating him like a member of some inferior species.

Erskine had grown up considerably from the boy who used such unproductive tactics on the pretty baker's daughter. He'd immediately recognized that his urge to upset Miss Sanders's calmness was similarly based in seeking her attention, if only in displeasure. And the heat swirling in his blood since she'd touched his bare chest was distinctly adult.

While he didn't understand the fascination, he made a habit of being honest with himself. This observant little sparrow drew him in a way the fashionable and sophisticated London ladies never had. He was yet to work out why. This attraction's inexplicable nature added to its power. In all this sprawling house, the only person who stirred a shred of interest was the woman regarding him the way she'd regard a worm in an apple.

An unusual experience for a man generally considered irresistible to the fairer s.e.x.

He'd been right to suspect that more went on beneath her quiet exterior than she wanted the world to know. In the last five minutes, she'd displayed more spirit than she had in three days of staring him down. Perhaps he should have locked her in a cupboard the first day.

"You've got a key. Or you've clicked the lock somehow."

She didn't sound frightened, for which he was heartily grateful. Instead she sounded like a schoolmistress scolding a lazy pupil for sloppy arithmetic.

Good G.o.d, Erskine was in a bad way. Something in that stern voice made him want to grab her and kiss her until she lost the breath to berate him. "You're not a very trusting soul, are you?"

Her sigh conveyed endless irritation. "Lord Erskine, you needn't persist in this foolishness. You have my word that I will never invade another man's bedchamber."

He bit back an invitation to invade his bedchamber any time she fancied.

When he didn't respond, she went on, still as if speaking to someone slow on the uptake. "Pray unlock the door. No harm has been done. My sister's honor is safe because you destroyed the letter. You obviously realized that she'd written to you on a foolish impulse."

Actually the beauteous Amelia's letter had been incendiary in the extreme and had offered privileges n.o.body but a husband had the right to claim. Erskine spared a sympathetic thought for the chit's fiance. Mr. Gerald Fox put his pretty beloved high on a pedestal, a pedestal from which she was likely to topple before long.

Erskine kept his voice light, although he wondered if Amelia's younger sister had any inkling of the letter's contents. "So all is squared away and you go your merry way, with your uncharitable a.s.sessment of me intact."

He didn't see her frown, but he knew she did. He'd never been so attuned to a woman. And he hadn't even kissed her yet.

At the thought of holding her naked in his arms, hunger shuddered through him. While she didn't dress to display her body, he knew enough about women to guess what she'd look like out of that unfashionable blue frock. She might be slender, but the bosom curving beneath those discouragingly high collars was round and firm. He'd wager that description matched the rest of her.

Perhaps winter and this tedious house party encouraged a taste for more subtle attractions. Three days in her company had convinced Erskine that Philippa Sanders was a rare beauty indeed. He was just grateful that his blockheaded companions were too distracted by the false gold of her sister to notice.

"I hardly think you care about my opinion," she said in a repressive tone.

"I'm a sensitive soul."

"Clearly," she responded just as drily. "Now unlock the door." She paused and added a sugary edge to the next word. " Please."

He laughed, wondering why her bossiness charmed him. He didn't in general like managing females, but something about this small, confident woman touched the heart he'd imagined immune to tenderness. "Did that hurt?"

Another of those delightful, dismissive snorts. "You've had your fun, my lord."

Not by a long shot, my dear. "Believe me, Miss Sanders, unless I can open this door, nothing can save you from the consequences of your foolishness. It seems fortune doesn't favor the brave."

He should be in a blind panic about what might happen if they were discovered together in such a compromising situation. Somehow, he...wasn't.

"This isn't funny."

"I'm not laughing." He paused. "You're most welcome to search me if you believe I have a key."

Her faint gasp made him wonder if she too relived that searing moment when she'd touched him. "The door's really stuck?"

"It's really stuck."

He heard the faint rustle of her plain dark blue dress, the same dress she'd worn sitting across the table from him at dinner. Her expression had been critical as she'd observed her overbearing cousin's attempts to captivate him. Caroline had been almost as busy as the beauteous Amelia making cow eyes at him.

When he'd accepted Sir Theodore Liddell's invitation, he hadn't realized matchmaking lay on the horizon. Although d.a.m.n it, he should have. He was hardly a green boy when it came to ambitious parents.

Beside him, the doork.n.o.b rattled. Miss Sanders wasn't one to give up before she was well and truly defeated. He admired her stalwart soul. He'd mocked her bravery in sneaking into his room to steal her sister's letter, but it was a d.a.m.ned gallant act. An act that, unless they were very lucky, would have major repercussions.

As she moved, he caught a drift of her scent. Like Philippa Sanders, it was an intriguing mixture of tart and sweet. Lemon soap. And something warmer and earthier.

He couldn't let her continue battling with the door. Already she breathed in frantic little gasps. He placed his hand over hers. There was that same shock of connection that he'd felt when she flattened her palm on his bare chest. "Do you believe me now?"

"Yes." She sounded young and frightened, not at all like the a.s.sertive miss who had demanded the letter's return. "This is such a disaster. We can't say here alone. What if someone finds us?"

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Acknowledgements.

Thank you to my wonderful book elves, Ann, Christine, Vanessa and Sharon. I don't know what I'd do without you.

About the Author.

Anna Campbell has written ten multi award-winning historical romances for Grand Central Publishing and Avon HarperCollins and her work is published in sixteen languages. Her most recent full-length release is A Scoundrel by Moonlight (Grand Central Forever, April 2015). Anna has won numerous awards for her Regency-set stories including RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice, the Booksellers Best, the Golden Quill (three times), the Heart of Excellence (twice), the Write Touch, the Aspen Gold (twice) and the Australian Romance Readers a.s.sociation's favorite historical romance (five times). Anna lives on the beautiful east coast of Australia where she writes full-time.

Anna loves to hear from her readers. You can find her at:.

Website: www.annacampbell.com.

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